


The Mysterious Beginning of Tobias Black

by SherlockMalfoy



Series: Sherlock!Wizardverse Drabbles - General [33]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, Minor Character Death, paradox maybe?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-05
Updated: 2013-01-05
Packaged: 2017-11-23 18:15:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/625173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SherlockMalfoy/pseuds/SherlockMalfoy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>During the summer between Draco Malfoy's 5th and 6th years at Hogwarts, he was whisked away by a rather strange wizard who, as luck would have it, had now prevented him from having the Dark Mark forced upon him. Over the next year Draco learned quite a lot from him. They became good friends and returned to Hogwarts for what would have been Draco's 7th year - only to live and work undercover with Neville to protect the students there. This is not the story of their trials and tribulations. This is not even the story of how they met.<br/>This is 100 years after the war, and Draco sits by his old friend and mentor's deathbed. But this is not the end of Tobias Black's strange story.<br/>This is, in fact, the very beginning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Mysterious Beginning of Tobias Black

**Author's Note:**

> actual research went into the legal wording and such for last wills and testaments. however, we're pretty sure what we found was an american version, and unsure if the british have a different form that they use.  
> not brit-picked, and we're both american so there's bound to be americannisms.  
> also not beta'd.

         Draco sat beside the bed, holding the old wizard’s bony hand. He was thin, far too much so. And his hair, once a brilliant blond, was now the same silver as his eyes. Thinned, just as the rest of him, with age.  
         He’d lived well into old age, managing to reach the average 150 for a healthy and powerful wizard. Draco had been newly sixteen when they had met. This man a mere 50. Already an old man during a war.  
         But his health had steadily begun to decline. Seven months, seven moons now, he’d been getting worse. And now had at last taken to his bed. His only two friends visited him often now that he had settled into a single residence.  
         “It’s almost time,” he said, turning his head to look at Draco. His old, dear friend. “I’ve finally run out of steam.”  
         “Don’t say that,” said the former Slytherin. “Harry will be back soon, and I’ll be able to brew up-“  
         “No, no. There’s no potion that can cure me of this.”  
         “It’s just old age talking,” Draco, no spring chicken himself, said and patted his friend’s hand. “You’ll see. I’ll brew you up a nice pain draught. That’ll ease your joints, I’m sure of it.”  
         “There’s no better potions master than you, old friend.” The old wizard gave him the most serene of smiles. “But not even Harry Potter himself could find a way to save me now.”  
         “Don’t let him hear you say that. You know his saviour complex.”  
         The older man gave a small laugh, but it sputtered into a cough before he was through. His free hand reached for the glass at his bedside. Quickly Draco filled it and offered it to him.  
         A few sips soothed the burning in his throat. “I’ll not be long now,” he said matter-of-factly. “You’ll see… You’ll see…” With that he drifted into one of his brief, uneasy sleeps.  
         Draco squeezed his hand gently, then rose from his seat by the bed. He slipped from the bedroom, leaving the door open so that he could listen for any sound travel down the hall to the living room.  
         He found Harry standing by the open window, an owl sitting on the perch nearby.  
         Draco didn’t like the look on his husband’s wrinkled face. “What is it?” he asked as green eyes closed and the man holding the letter drew in a deep, slow breath.  
         “It’s…” His voice lost, but that single word twisted in grief. He held the letter out for him to read. Draco took it and scanned it quickly, then re-read it twice more as his chest tightened and his voice considered getting stuck in his throat.  
         “Severus is…”  
         “It’s too soon,” Harry said. “It’s much too soon. He’s going to… Draco he could die…”  
         “Go,” Draco said, wrapping his arms around his weeping, worried husband. “Go. John’s going to need you, and so will the children.”  
         “But Scorpius can-“  
         “Scorpius Mycroft has his hands plenty full right now with Gregory’s condition. Right now our son-in-law needs you more than I do.”  
         “Come with me to the hospital.”  
         Draco shook his head. “One of us needs to be here with him.” And though Harry wanted to argue, he knew his husband was right. Their old friend could barely walk. Could barely lift his head. He needed someone there… someone to stay with him until the end.  
         “Owl me,” Draco said once Harry had gathered everything he would need. “The moment you know something. The very moment you learn if we still have a son or… You let me know.”  
         Harry wrapped his arms around him in a tight embrace, giving a silent nod before stepping into the floo.  
         Draco waited a few moments longer before returning to his friend’s sick room.  
         He hadn’t expected the man to be awake when he entered. The old dog was grinning from ear to ear. But his eyes shone only a dull sadness. “I thought you’d gone.”  
         “No. I’m here.”  
         “I thought I heard Harry…”  
         “You did. He was just here but had to leave again. Severus…” He trailed off.  
         And the old wizard gave the smallest of nods and turned his head on his pillow. His face turned towards the chair beside his bed. “Please, sit my friend. And wait with me. It’s not long, now.”  
         Draco took up the seat again, thankful that the cushioning charm he’d placed on the chair hours earlier had yet to wear thin. “Don’t say that Tobias.”  
         “Why? It’s true.”  
         “You’ll outlive us all, I think.”  
         The old wizard gave a small sigh and raised his hand, the thin wrist, oh Merlin it was so very thin, shook with the effort. “Save your strength,” Draco said, but Tobias was stubborn and ignored him.  
         “ _Accio_ wand,” he said through chapped lips. A small velvet wrapped bundle shot across the room from the bureau beneath the window. It landed gently in his shaking, outstretched hand.  
         Draco could see the handle poking out from the bundle of cloth, the grip blackened deliberately by fire and carved with an intricate wolf design. Not surprising, given that his old friend suffered from lycanthropy. “Raise me up,” Tobias said, and when Draco did not move to do so he tried to push himself up. In the end the younger wizard had come forward to ease him up, and to fluff the pillows behind.  
         The bundle was unwrapped, the black velvet giving way to yellow silk before at last the wand was fully revealed. Arthritic hands carefully, lovingly stroked the wood. From blackened handle down the streamlined body to the slight curve just before the tip. Draco had seen this very wand before, years ago. But he had believed his old friend had lost the pieces. Had not known it had been…  
         “This is not same wand,” Tobias said with a wheezing chuckle. “Yet it has been mine all the same. I lost my wand, if you’ll remember, half a century ago. A foolish duel with Professor Kripke. Snapped in two, the old bugger did. And I’ve not picked up another since. Not that I needed to, mind. I’ve a natural talent for wandless and wild magic, comimg from creature stock as I do.” He held it shakily out to Draco. “Take it,” he said.  
         And he did. “I do not understand. This is your wand. I would know this wand as I know my own hawthorn.” He held up the length of finely carved and crafted wood. He held in the fingers of both hands and tried to bend it. It gave, bending itself gently, then slowly and subtly returned to its normal shape. He inspected the grain of the oiled and polished wood carefully.  
         Again the old wizard chuckled with a wheeze. “I told you, my old friend. It is not the same wand. But it is my wand all the same.”  
         “Fourteen and a half inches. Chestnut and supple. The core is-“  
         “Phoenix feather, of course. It would be a crime to use anything less, considering its owner.” And he smiled at Draco’s confusion. He knew he was far more cryptic than was usual for him. “Draco. I want you to have it.”  
         “I already have a wand. And Harry has two.”  
         “I made this wand for a purpose, Draco. And that purpose must be filled. Take the bloody wand before I die so I don’t have to worry about it.”  
         “You’re not going to die.”  
         “What time is it?”  
         The question had caught him by surprise not because it was out of place. Tobias often changed subjects in the middle of an argument or discussion. It was the way he had asked it. A tone of resignation, no, of relief.  
         “Quarter past,” Draco said after consulting his wrist watch.  
         Tobias hummed to himself, muttering his favorite phrase of the day, “Not long now,” and shifted himself on his pillows. He waved the wand away when Draco tried to give it back. “I’ll not be needing it where I’m going,” he said stubbornly, setting his jaw in a manner Draco found oddly familiar.  
         Then, his crotchety manner melted after he asked for another pain draught. Draco watched as the potion took hold and the old man was smiling serenely once more. “I’ve had seven months,” he said at last. “To put my affairs in order. I know what’s coming for me. My will-“  
         “Tobias…”  
         “No no. You need to hear this. So you know why. Know the reason for it all. Know how important it all will be.” He turned his head, and Draco could see the light in his eyes start to dull. “My will, it leaves what little I have to your second son, Sherlock. And his family at Baker Street.”  
         “Why? You’ve never met-“  
         “Dangerous things happen to wizards who meddle with time. You can’t exist together. We can’t exist together. This is how it had always been. How it is always supposed to be.” Dull grey eyes now. The light, the life slipping away as Tobias closed them and exhaled slowly. So shallow. So calm. “You’ll look after our Sherlock, won’t you?”  
         “Of course,” he said, but didn’t believe it himself. He cared for his middle son, yes. But they’d never gotten on together. Never made peace. And this man, one of his oldest friends, had never even met his children. Had kept his distance all this time.  
         “I’m…” His voice trailed off, and on his final exhale, it was hardly a whisper. Draco would not have caught it had he not been listening for it. He’d only said a word. “Happy.”  
         Within moments there came a tapping at the window, disturbing his grief persistently. He picked up the wand on the bed and used it to open the window from where he sat. The owl, a common barn owl, swooped in and dropped the envelope in his lap before flying out again.  
         He recognized the handwriting on the outside immediately and tore it open. The news was bittersweet.  
         His son and the grandson he had been carrying nearly died. But both were now stable, barely, at St. Mungos. In his grief, Draco did not understand the coincidental timing. Only that he had lost an old and cherished friend while two more of his family had come so very close to slipping through the veil.

**o0o**

         A month and a half later, Draco Malfoy sat in a solicitor’s office beside his son-in-law. An infant cradled in his arms as the muggle sitting next to him fidgeted uneasily. The child was surprisingly calm, but that mostly had to do with Draco having given him a bottle and a nice clean diaper recently.  
         “I do wish he’d hurry up. Sherlock-“  
         “Is in a magical coma. His mother can look after him just as well as you can right now.”  
         “But the kids-“  
         “The twins are at school and Hamish is with his aunt and uncle. I’ve a calming draught in my satchel if you need-“  
         “No. No. I don’t need one of your vile potions,” John muttered, carding his hand through his graying hair. Bags under his eyes silently told a different story. But with the stress everyone had been under Draco did not want to press the issue.  
         “Thank you,” the older wizard instead said. “You needn’t have accompanied me.”  
         “Well, Sherlock couldn’t exactly come for it himself now could he.”  
         “Quite. Quite,” he said absently as the solicitor entered the office.  
         He was immaculately dressed in a combination of muggle and wizard attire. A pinstripe suit so dark a green it had neared black. His tie much the same. The shirt beneath had been black. But his robes were a brilliant sky blue, trimmed in a brilliant Slytherin green. The colors of his firm, obviously.  
         “My apologies for keeping you, gentlemen,” he said, seating himself behind the large oak desk. With his wand, he carefully selected a scroll from the wall to their right and watched as it lowered down to the desk before him. Draco caught sight of the wax seal briefly - silver wax, which in itself had been unusual, with a wolf’s head firmly pressed into it. Any more detail had been lost as the solicitor cracked the seal and unrolled the parchment.  
         “Let’s get started shall we?” he said, trying to keep his tone light despite the two grim faces in front of him. He cleared his throat and began to read from the red inked parchment aloud. _“Last Will and Testament of Lord Scorpius Mycroft Angelo Tobias Watson-Holmes Black, of the Most Noble and Ancient House of Black._ Blimey that’s a mouthful. Poor sod…” he said, not even noticing the wide eyed stare from the muggle before him, nor from the wizard lord holding the very small infant in his arms. _“Having taken residence at Pekoe Cottage in the Weald of Kent, Sussex County, the West Country-“_  
         “Yes yes,” Draco interrupted impatiently, getting over the initial shock of the deceased sharing a name with the grandson in his arms. “Get on with it. We haven’t got all day.”  
         “Of course, Mr. Malfoy,” the solicitor replied, much to John’s relief he didn’t argue, but he did continue, skipping the rather long explanation of where exactly this man had lived. “ _Being of sound mind, declare this to be my last will and testament. I revoke all wills and codicils previously made by me._ I would like to note that this is in fact the only will the gentleman had filed with this firm.”  
         He reached for an empty glass to the side. The moment his fingers touched it, the glass filled with water. After a quick sip, he continued to read. _“Article One. I appoint Draco Lucius Abraxas Potter-Malfoy as my Personal Representative to administer this will, and ask that he be permitted to serve without Ministry supervision and without posting bond. If Mr. Malfoy is unwilling or unable to serve, then I appoint Scorpius Mycroft Potter-Malfoy…_ If it’s all the same to you?” he asked, seeing the looks Mr. Malfoy had been giving him.  
         After receiving a nod, he skipped to Article 2, which explained all of the legal and financial instructions in great detail that were to be handled by the deceased’s Personal Representative.  
         Then, he reached the third portion. _“Article Three. I devise, bequeath, and give the wand called_ **Tempus Lupus** _, being of fourteen and one half inch length, made of supple chestnut,  and containing within a phoenix feather core to Draco Lucius Abraxas Potter-Malfoy. Whom will keep the wand in trust until Angelo Watson-Holmes reaches the age of eleven. At which point it is to be given to the child for use in his magical education and beyond.”_  
         John turned to stare at Draco, then to his youngest son who quietly stared up at his grandfather, giving the occasional cooing noise. “I don’t- I never even- But how-“  
         “I am unsure; however I do believe that now many of my questions for the last 100 years have been answered here today.”  
         “But how-“  
         “Gentlemen, if I may?”  
         Draco gave the solicitor a nod as a faint smile spread across his face. He continued to listen as other little things were doled out to people the old man who had been Tobias had never met. Yet… He looked down at the child in his arms, and there, in those tiny eyes that had yet to decide whether or not they would be ashen or blue, he saw the faintest hint of a familiar light.  
         The rest, Draco knew even before it had been read out, would be left to Sherlock. Though he did not know why this was so. Only that the child, no, the man had willed it. Perhaps, even, he had grown up in that cottage. Thus he had wanted to ensure nothing changed. That everything remained the same as he remembered that it would be.  
         When all was said and done, Draco knew certain truths must never be known, if only for his family’s sanity and sake. He’d made the solicitor swear a wizard’s oath, then turned his attention to John Watson. And though the muggle could not use the magic that thrummed through him now, it was Draco who managed to coax it into working along with him.  
         Thus the secret of the rather strange wizard who had died the very day he was born would never be known outside that office.  
         But Draco had added, much to his own regret for he lost the only person with whom he could speak to on these matters, a slight memory charm to veil the information. Yes, it was underhanded. But it was, he felt, also very much necessary.

**Author's Note:**

> 1. **Tempus Lupus** _\- latin - Time Wolf_ (not very original, we know.)
> 
> 2\. In this Sherlock/Harry Potter AU Draco never took the Dark Mark because an unknown agent infiltrated Fenrir Greyback’s werewolf pack in order to gain entry to Malfoy Manor and rescue the teen. This agent turned out to be his own grandson who as a child was a science fiction and time travel enthusiast (thanks to John Watson’s Doctor Who obsession). In his own time, Angelo came across a time turner, and of course he had to tinker with it. The turner was broken, and accidentally sent him back in time. Having no way back to his present, he was forced to live out the rest of his life in the past. He lived under an assumed name, _Tobias Black_ , for the greater part of his life. However, he took on aliases during the war and worked undercover with Draco Malfoy under these different names. As a result, Angelo’s uncle Mycroft was named after both his own and Draco’s undercover aliases, and Mycroft later chose Holmes as his muggle surname - the surname both Angelo and Draco used during the last year of the war. Because of who he was, Angelo kept his distance after the war so that he would not unduly influence events that would ultimately lead to his own birth around 100 years later, which is why out of Draco and Harry’s children only Mycroft even knows he existed, having learned of his father’s undercover partner through stories of the war only. - This is the basis for the next story after _John, I’m a Wizard_. It is titled _Blood Loyal_.
> 
> 3\. A bit of Doctor Who timey-wimey influence is at work here (inspired by and built upon the ideas presented in the episode "Father's Day") - One cannot exist in the same place at the same time. There is, of course, a bit of overlap by 7 months (while Sherlock is pregnant). When Angelo was conceived, the older version of him began to take ill, giving the older version a deadline to get his affairs in order. Thus when Angelo is born, he dies, preventing the paradox of a single person existing at the same time as themselves.


End file.
